MOV09011
by rib
Summary: Kenny makes a video. For Aze.


For Azerpapa. Inspired by southparkcosplay's video, 'Kenny's Problem.' Go find it on YouTube.

Both the camera and tripod were Craig's. He and Kenny were pretty friendly. Craig didn't think the blonde would steal it or try to sell it or anything like that, at least.

Kenny set it up to face the lumpy mattress he used as a bed. Craig had taught him how to the work the thing. The dim light from the flickering bulb of his bedroom was just enough for everything to be visible. The orange cloth tacked on his wall to cover the windows billowed slightly against the nighttime wind. He turned on the timer so that it would record for five minutes and crawled over to sit on the edge of his mattress. He waited for the red light to come on with a little beep.

Kenny licked his chapped lips, looking into the lens of the camera. "Hey, guys," he began. He immediately realized how dry his throat was. He coughed, frustrated, and scratched the rough denim of his jeans. "Uh," he scowled at how unprepared he was. He looked to his side, where his thin blanket lay in a heap. He thought he'd just know what to say as soon as the blinking light came on. He thought it would just come to him. "Remember when we were playing superheroes? Uh… no, wait."

"I died," he said hesitantly, "I die all the time. You guys remember me telling you right? I keep telling you. I die and I come back the next morning. My mom gives birth to me every time and I age really fast in one night. And everyone who saw me die, anyone who heard, anyone who fucking smelled_—everyone _would forget. As far as anyone's concerned, I bailed or something. Fucking weird shit, huh? Isn't it fucking fucked-up?" Kenny gave a hurt scoff. "But that's what happens."

"You guys don't remember. You guys never fucking remember." He looked up, gaining volume again. "I've told you guys before, and you'd laugh. You'd think I was joking or that I was crazy. You'd be right there, and you'd see me die. You'd scream. You'd blame the Bastards, but you'd never remember. You never fucking remember."

Kenny paused to get a hold of himself. "I'd come back the next day. And you'd be all, "hey Kenny," he bit his lip, "'what's up? Where'd you go yesterday?'"

"I think my parents know. Fucked if they didn't, it's their all their fault I'm in this bitch of a situation. Something about fucking Cthulhu or whatever. Fucking retards. It's not like they can do anything, either. They're just dumb alcoholics."

"It's just real crap, guys; the dying every day and waking up to a town that doesn't remember. It's not cool or fun or any of that shit. It fucking _sucks_. It's…" Kenny lost himself for a second. He took a deep breath and something warm and wet fell on his hand. "It's fucking worse than hell. I'd know. I end up there, most of the time."

"This isn't going to work," Kenny muttered. He stared at his slowly dampening hand, his vision blurring. "This isn't going to fucking work, but I'm trying anyway. I want you guys to remember. You guys should remember." He felt around behind him for the cold of metal. He gripped the gun like his life depended in it.

"You know how poor I am right? I can't afford any of those special effects and I didn't edit this video." He raised the mouth of the gun to his lips, inhaling the familiar smell of gunpowder. "Remember this time, you guys." He cocked the gun. "Try to fucking remember."

_Bang._

For the last minute and twenty seconds of the video, it only showed Kenny's corpse, convulsing occasionally. The insides of his head were splattered across the wall behind him, his jaw slackened. His face was still wet with tears.

When Kenny woke up the next morning in his dirty little room in his dirty little parka on his dirty little bed, not a trace of his blood or body parts remained outside his anatomy. He reached over and grabbed the camera, still on. He checked the gallery. He watched his suicide with a hardened expression, occasionally sniffing or wiping his face. He watched it twice more before stopping midway the third time.

He quickly deleted it and made his way downstairs before he could be late for school.


End file.
